


Sensory Details

by CalicoPudding



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Bruises, Comfort, Crying, Established Relationship, Forehead Kisses, Forehead Touching, Future Fic, M/M, Self-Doubt, Senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8655295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoPudding/pseuds/CalicoPudding
Summary: Bleached white clouds against a toxic blue skyline while a dozen blood red balloons drift away. Purple bleeds into black fades to grey turns to white becomes pink and then red like bloodshot eyes after another three in the morning trip to the ice rink.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be no more than 800 words, as you can see, I failed in that endeavor. I blame it on my inability to properly cope with my own feelings. DRUM ROLL FOR THE NEWEST VENT FIC

Some time ago, when he was a child in fact, he mastered the art of sneaking out without a sound. It’s not like he’s going off to do anything illegal, and it’s easy given that he has a copy of the key, gifted just a handful of years ago. 

Having such an item comes in handy when it’s two twenty-seven in the morning and the only light to be found is from the half moon hanging in the sky.

With a cursory patdown to make sure he has all he needs, Yuuri leaves his room, steps gentle and quiet.

Following Victor’s arrival all those years ago, he’d nearly had a heart attack when Makkachin met him halfway down the hall. His worry had been misplaced, the dog only sniffed at his hand, giving it a lick before returning to Victor’s room where the door was partially opened. Now, after having done this numerous times, he’s come to expect Makkachin’s interception in the hall. There’s really only an issue when Yuuri doesn’t sleep with Victor; occasionally he needs to be by himself, Victor is understanding, he gives Yuuri a kiss then sends him off down the hall.

An interception via Makkachin doesn’t happen tonight, however, and Yuuri soon finds himself outside in the chilly air.

Staying cooped up with his thoughts doesn’t do him any good, it never has. Unfortunately, these early morning, ungodly actually, jaunts on the ice are becoming more and more commonplace. It’s not that he feels particularly bad, everything just gets jumbled up, and he can’t make sense of any of it. It’s nothing but a clammering mass of noise and pictures, bright colors flashing, phantom scents assaulting his nose while the cloying air in his imagination slowly suffocates him. 

It’s not pleasant.

Moving on autopilot, Yuuri soon arrives at Ice Castle and when he blinks, he’s stepping into the rink, earbuds already in, his thumb hovering over the play button.

Head turned up, Yuuri pushes away from the wall. He turns the volume down, absently thumbing at the button until only the barest strains of music reach his ears. He keeps his gaze turned towards the ceiling, choosing to focus on that instead of the noise, but he has no fear of crashing. His eyes wander along, taking in every difference of color, every even melding of the light fixtures to the ceiling. Occasionally, he ends up looking directly at the light; he simply continues moving and blinks away the technicolor dots blurring his vision.

In the back of his mind, he keeps track of how far he moves in each direction, creating a rough estimate of where he is on the ice. 

Clearing his head takes time, and Yuuri tries to dissociate himself from the process.

That’s part of the problem. 

Internal conflict is something he’s familiar with. He performs bandaid solutions, sweeping the thoughts under the metaphorical rug. He allows them to build up and grow until they become debilitating and deafening. When that happens, all he wants to do is cry, it’s not all that special of a time given that he’ll cry even when it’s quiet. He’s done enough crying, though his eyes apparently seem to disagree with him on that matter. But he lets everything accumulate, bears it on the ice, but removes himself like that will somehow help.

If he can just forget about them for a little while, he’ll be okay for a short stretch of time. 

It’s all noise tonight, a cutting cacophony of voices and the clicks of cameras. Blades gliding across the ice, coming to a short stop. Feet slapping the floor in a dead sprint. Thunderous applause while the hundreds of voices meld together until they become one unified wave of sound. A stray comment, a mellow laugh, an audible smile, the dull thud of a hand on his shoulder. Heaving sobs, rapid breaths, tears splashing near silent on the tile. Heavy knocking on his bedroom door, the rumble of a car down the road, the easy slide of scissors through packaging tape followed by the tear of cardboard.

It overlaps, echoes, doubles. Some are louder than others.

He does his best.

Perform.

Reflect.

Repeat. 

Yuuri comes to a stop nearly dead center of the rink. He doesn’t bother checking the time, already estimating more than an hour spent drifting around the ice. He takes off his skates, and puts on his glasses.

Victor’s offered to be a sounding board, he already is for many things, but Yuuri always feels guilty about this. It’s nothing Victor has a hand in, not his fault in the slightest, and it’s been a while. He shouldn’t have an issue telling these things to Victor after so long, surely there wouldn’t be an problem?

The walk back home is no less dark, but Yuuri’s head is a little quieter.

So it’s all right. 

No one’s awake yet, they never are, but Makkachin’s waiting in the hallway, following after Yuuri when he passes by. Yuuri lets one of his hands drop down to pat the poodle’s head. 

Surprisingly, Makkachin doesn’t stop at Victor’s door, but goes with Yuuri to his room instead. 

Yuuri doesn’t question it, he sets his glasses on his desk then removes his shoes. He doesn’t spare a thought to his clothes, he didn’t even break a sweat, and falls face first onto his bed. A few minutes of squirming gets him half under the covers and he doesn’t have much more will than that. Makkachin jumps onto the bed, padding over to lay down next to Yuuri, lying partially on top of him. 

The added warmth isn’t an issue, and Yuuri isn’t going to complain about the comfort of an animal who isn’t going to judge him when the tears start slipping out. 

It happens soon enough, and the sudden break of tension doesn’t faze Makkachin at all.

Yuuri slings one arm around the dog and cries silently.

* * *

It’s midnight, and Yuuri thinks he’s going to pass out if the train wreck in his head gets any worse. It’s not so much sound this time as it is visual stimulus. Too bright flashes of a glittering costume from years ago, the sharp contrast between the red clouds surrounding the setting sun and the outreaches where it's still blue. He sees light glinting off the water, unrelenting, too much like the flash of cameras.

There’s still a few people up, moving about in their rooms, so Yuuri takes extra care not to be spotted or heard. 

He barely makes it past the front door, having to nearly leap through because someone is turning the corner. 

It’s not a big deal, not really. Anyone who knows him understands the personal trips to Ice Castle. It’s more the time that’s the problem. Practicing the daylight hours away is one thing, but coming back to repeat the process at night, that could cause concern. Yuuri doesn’t want anyone to be worried. He’s handled it this long, he can continue to handle it.

Besides, if someone were to inquire further, the added attention and stimulus would tip the scale and Yuuri would be a crying mess on the floor.

No good, best to just go it alone then. 

He’s a little more aware of himself, he remembers taking off his glasses, setting them on the wall, remembers putting his bag down and picking up his earbuds. The lights are dim, and Yuuri keeps his eyes open as he skates the perimeter with slow, almost lethargic, movements. 

At times like these, his skating always seems to straddle the line between lazy and slow-moving grace.

Yuuri can’t be bothered to divine which at the moment. 

Eventually, he moves away from the wall, skates with his arms extended in a mockery of needed balance. He’s waiting for the low burn to start up, it will distract him from the colors currently attempting to strangle his brain. 

When the sensation doesn’t come quickly enough, Yuuri turns his music up until it drowns everything out, and he closes his eyes. 

The pulsing of the music evens out the noise, creates a steady background of color that slowly begins to bleed into everything. Camera flashes and glittering ocean waves fade into something Yuuri can only describe as warm. The other snippets drift towards the colder colors. Yuuri knows they’re only hiding there, once the song leaves his head, they’ll have free reign once again. 

But it’s pleasant now, and he doesn’t feel like his heart is going to fall through his chest.

He lets his eyes open and gears his focus towards old programs, skating bits and pieces, but never jumping. In this state, he doesn’t have the presence of mind to jump properly. An injury would be difficult to explain, to say the least. 

The time doesn’t catch up to him until his left leg nearly gives out. When he steps off the ice, a shudder runs from his feet to his hips, up along his spine, and he stumbles a little. 

He avoids looking at his feet when he takes off his skates, already imagining the bruises decorating his skin. Slowly, and wincing with every step, Yuuri makes his way to the showers. He’s quick, just a rinse because there’s sweat soaked in his hair, and the warm water keeps the tension away for a little while longer. 

Drying off and redressing takes a bit more time, Yuuri spends a few minutes simply sitting on the bench, staring at the ground, but soon enough he’s on his way home.

* * *

 

“Yuuri?”

He looks up, eyes wide behind his glasses. Victor’s leaning out of his room; apparently Yuuri’s limp detracts from his stealth.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Yuuri asks.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Victor looks as though he’s been awake for some time, but given the hour Yuuri isn’t all that certain.

“I, well, I was having trouble falling asleep, so I went on a little walk. I feel much more relaxed now.”

The last bit isn’t really a lie, he feels better than he did when he left, mentally anyways, given that his legs are starting to go numb.

“Are you sure?” There’s genuine worry in Victor’s voice, it’s a tone that Yuuri’s heard for a while now. It never fails to make him feel just the slightest bit guilty.

“Yes. Sorry, again, for waking you.”

Yuuri gives what he hopes is a convincing smile before he starts walking down the hall, despite the fact that he can tell Victor doesn’t actually believe him.

If the situation were reversed, Yuuri wouldn’t believe Victor. 

“Yuuri,” Victor calls quietly, holding out his hand.

Curiously, Yuuri takes those few steps and allows Victor to pull him back, just a bit closer. Yuuri is expecting a proper kiss, as is the norm most nights, but it’s a pleasant surprise when Victor’s lips meet his forehead. 

“Would you like some company tonight?”

Victor always asks, he’s good like that. 

Yuuri considers the offer. He doesn’t feel as though he’s about to burst into tears, he’s feeling kind of hazy, which is preferable to his other options. Stepping closer, he settles his forehead against Victor’s shoulder and draws in a breath.

“Yeah. My room though, if that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Victor presses another kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

They walk down the hall, Makkachin trailing behind. Victor’s already dressed in pajamas, and Yuuri has long since stopped turning into a blushing mess whenever he undresses around the other. He has just enough presence of mind to leave his socks on as he changes, knowing that, despite the dim, the bruises will be easy to spot should his socks come off.

Victor’s getting comfortable beneath the covers, he opens his arms up and Yuuri lays down in them, turning to face Victor’s chest. Makkachin curls up at the foot of the bed, appearing content enough. 

The swell of colors in Yuuri’s head has yet to grow worse, for once it’s remaining in a calm stasis of occasional spikes. He presses closer, a none to subtle hint for Victor to hold him tighter.

They stay like that for some time. Victor presses the occasional kiss to Yuuri’s forehead, trailing down to his cheek, or up into his hair. Makkachin eventually decides to join them, laying over their legs, resting his head on Victor’s hip. 

It’s quiet, and the low light eliminates any excess colors, everything is muted.

“Did something happen?” Victor asks after a moment, smoothing one of his hands through Yuuri’s hair. His other hand rests against Yuuri’s lower back, thumb stroking soothing circles against his skin.

“N-no, why?” Yuuri really doesn’t want to lie, but it’s not like he has too many options. As the panic swells, so does the color. Already, he can feel it begin to hum, bright flashes and cutting contrast, getting ready to swallow him whole.

“Your hair is damp. Did you go out to skate?”

Shit.

He told Victor he went for a walk, how’s he going to explain this? He doubts that Victor will be angry with him, but surely he’ll be  _ something _ . If not angry, then maybe disappointed? Yuuri doesn’t think he can handle Victor being disappointed with him. 

“Yuuri?”

Too late.

Yuuri’s already halfway to shut down. The cogs in his head are spinning, spitting out smoke as they grind together. The colors surge, a stunning flash of white teeth behind red lips, a dazzling haze of sequins reflected against ice, the line where sun bleached sand meets the waves. 

Too late.

Yuuri has yet to realize the fact that he’s shaking. His head is nothing but a mess of colors all bleeding into one another. He’s failed. He should have said no, back in the hallway. Victor would have understood, of course he would have.

“Yuuri, please, look at me.”

Victor’s pulling back, trying to get a proper look at Yuuri’s face. But that’s no good. Yuuri clings to him, like some bizarre breed of koala, and hides his face in Victor’s chest. 

“No,” he says shakily, soft between the erratic breaths he hadn’t realized he’s been drawing for the past few minutes.

“Yuuri.” Victor’s voice is equally as quiet, but there’s an edge to it, one that commands attention. Out of habit more so than anything else, Yuuri’s eyes snap open. His grip on Victor’s night shirt doesn’t loosen any, but he allows Victor to tilt his head up. 

There’s nothing but concern etched into Victor’s features, and, oh god, Yuuri just wants to curl up under the covers and cry himself out. Anything but having to deal with this now.

“Focus on me, Yuuri, breathe deeply for me.”

He tries, of course he tries. But there’s too much attention, too much laser focus on  _ him _ . 

And he doesn’t like it.

The colors grow more vibrant, until they’re painful to imagine. Bleached white clouds against a toxic blue skyline while a dozen blood red balloons drift away. Purple bleeds into black fades to grey turns to white becomes pink and then red like bloodshot eyes after another three in the morning trip to the ice rink. The harsh glint of his blades reflected in dim lighting like razors slicing through the very air around him. 

And Yuuri finds he can barely breathe at all. 

Faintly, as if it’s not actually his own body but some phantom copy, he feels Victor’s fingers stroking up and down his back. 

New colors slot into place. 

A heady blush, red fading pink, against pale skin surrounded by an inky black drop. Second by second, the colors saturate. All at once, it’s like someone has turned the exposure up, and Yuuri squints like the colors are real, like they’re in front of him. 

Victor’s blurry face moves closer, he presses their foreheads together. The second their skin touches, Yuuri closes his eyes again.

“Love, I need you to focus on me. Look only at me.”

And, hell, those familiar words bring their own colors.

They’re softer though, not so intent on turning Yuuri’s insides to mush.

Warm blue, he can see different shades of the blanket blurring together. Flickering reds and oranges blend from a fireplace into the evening sky. A beach, at night, dotted with sparklers and the dim colors of company.

Yuuri’s still shaking but he can breathe, and doing that much seems to appease Victor.

“Being out on the ice, that’s not something you have to hide from me,” he says gently, running his free hand through Yuuri’s hair.

Victor keeps talking, it’s half nonsense and half comfort, but he doesn’t shut up until Yuuri comes back to himself and opens his eyes. Makkachin had retreated to the floor at the start of Yuuri’s attack, but returns now, lying down behind him. 

“Better now?” Victor asks, moving Yuuri’s sweat slicked hair away from his face. 

Not trusting himself to speak, Yuuri nods. 

“Good,” Victor says simply.

Yuuri uncurls his hands from Victor’s shirt, wincing as his fingers burn. He can feel the exhaustion weaving its way through him, but he forces himself awake. Moving forward, he presses a kiss to Victor’s chest, then allows himself to move back a little. 

“I’m going to get a wash cloth, will you be okay?” Victor asks. 

It would be a silly question under any other circumstance, but Yuuri nods, twisting around so he can hug Makkachin. Victor takes a moment to place a few kisses along Yuuri’s jaw before getting up. He disappears through the door and Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut.

“Sorry about all that,” he whispers. Makkachin just sneezes, and squirms a little, but Yuuri takes that to mean that his apology has been accepted. Apologizing to Victor will be harder. Mainly because Victor will insist that he doesn’t have to apologize, but also because Yuuri doesn’t know exactly what he’s apologizing for. Panicking? Keeping Victor awake at ungodly hours? Lying about going for a walk? Acting okay despite the fact that he’s barely functional?

All of the above?

Victor returns soon enough. He gets back onto the bed, he’s somewhat off balanced because both of his hands are clasped together. Yuuri sits up, Makkachin moving to settle in his lap once he’s properly upright. 

At Victor’s gesture, Yuuri closes his eyes. He feels the warmth of the cloth a split second before it touches his face. Victor works quickly, but gently, cleaning Yuuri’s face, then running the cloth against his hairline to wipe away the sweat. 

“There we are, much better.” 

Yuuri doesn’t open his eyes yet, but he allows himself to lean into the one hand Victor still has on his cheek. 

“Yuuri?”

He really doesn’t want to open his eyes, doesn’t want to know what expression is splayed across Victor’s features. In the back of his mind, Yuuri knows that it’s likely caring and concern, but the moronic voice that sounds off all of his insecurities tells him that he’ll see pity, disappointment, maybe even disgust.

Yuuri doesn’t want to see that, so he squeezes his eyes shut tighter. 

“You don’t have to tell me now,” Victor says softly, suddenly much closer than Yuuri thought. “In the morning, maybe? If you can manage that much, will you tell me then?”

Yuuri finds himself in a hug, it’s tight, but he finds himself breathing easier than he has all night.

* * *

The following morning, Victor wakes to a note on the pillow beside his.

_ Victor, _

_ Went on a run with Makkachin, I promise, should be back before six. I’ll call if that changes. _

_ Yuuri _

There’s a little doodle of Makkachin in the corner, and Victor smiles. 

Slowly, he gets up, still half asleep. The digital clock reads five thirty-two, so he’s not so worried at the moment. 

Last night, or maybe it was technically the early morning, was certainly a surprise. He knew Yuuri went out at night sometimes, he hadn’t thought it a big deal until those trips started happening at strange hours, and for so long. But he hadn’t pressed. Yuuri isn’t competing anymore, it’s been a few years, and they always visit this time of year.

Yuuri’s always been prone to internalizing his problems, it’s something they’re working on. For the most part, Yuuri has no issue with telling Victor when something bothers him, he’s quite prompt with it as well.

But this is something different. 

“You’re up early.”

Mari’s looking the very picture of death, nursing a cup of coffee as she’s hunched over the table. Victor doesn’t respond until he’s got his own cup, and sits himself down opposite her. 

“So are you.”

“Some of us work here.” 

Victor laughs at that, taking a sip of his coffee. It’s not that he’s not friendly with Yuuri’s sister, the two of them have a relationship founded on the trade of embarrassing stories about Yuuri, and snarky comments. She’s also a wonderful source to ask whenever Victor’s worried about Yuuri.

“Ah, so I’ve noticed,” Victor says. He takes one more sip before continuing. “In all seriousness, can I ask something about Yuuri?”

Mari no longer looks like she’s going to face plant the table. She lets go of her coffee cup and sits up.

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure, exactly, that’s why I’m asking. He went out to skate and didn’t come back until after midnight. Then he had a- I don’t know, some kind of anxiety attack? He kept his eyes closed for the most part. Has something like this ever happened?”

Judging by the look on Mari’s face, this isn’t new. 

“Yeah, um, when Yuuri was younger he used to have these days- well, I guess you could call them episodes. Anyways, there would be times that he got real sensitive to sounds and sights, touch too sometimes. He’d curl up in a ball and start crying, freaking out, if there was ever a lot of...what’d he call it? Sensory input? Yeah, that was it. They got real bad when he was a teenager, he told me that it was like his brain ran a film reel of old memories, just put everything on repeat. He rebounds pretty quick though, he’s a tough kid. You said his eyes were closed? So it was probably sights, for the past few years it’s been colors, which is good, he told me he used to get full scenic memories with sharp edges.”

“Colors?”

“Colors. They get really bright and stuff, he said they hurt.”

Victor chews on his bottom lip.

“Is there anything I can-”

“You two were together last night, staying with him through that helps more often than not, gives him an anchor point. Just talk to him. He’s not gonna want to at first, the only reason he talks to me is because I’m the one who usually found him curled up in cupboards. He’d spend a lot of time at Minako’s too, then on the ice once he started skating. I’d drag him back and his feet were always black and blue, my god, he was a mess.”

Mari downs the rest of her coffee then runs her hand through her hair. She stands up, letting out a sigh. 

“Tell Yuuri I can handle things by myself today, don’t let him argue.” With that, she leaves, and Victor’s left with more information than he knows what to do with, and a half empty cup of coffee.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I figured it'd be best to add this as a second chapter, so enjoy!

Yuuri returns three minutes past six o’clock. He’s not sure if Victor will still be asleep, if he is then Yuuri can just throw away the note and crawl back under the covers as if nothing had happened. He really did go on a walk, so it’s not like Victor has anything to worry about, but Yuuri still feels a bit guilty.

He’s not even sure how he’s going to broach the subject with Victor.

Makkachin breaks into a dead sprint the second Yuuri unclips the leash.

“Wait! Makkachin!” he whisper yells.

Yuuri stumbles forward. He’s not too concerned about Makkachin doing anything he shouldn’t, but the poodle has been known to run over Yuuri’s sleepy family members in the morning. His worry is replaced by a heavy weight of dread in his stomach as he skids to a stop.

Victor’s awake, nursing a cup of coffee. Makkachin’s settled at his side, looking halfway to sleep already.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, voice warm and welcoming.

“You’re up.” Conversely, Yuuri’s voice is shaky, unstable as a leaf through a storm.

Of course Victor picks up on it.

He pulls Yuuri down to sit with him, holding him in a side hug that shouldn’t really be comfortable but Yuuri is cold and Victor is warm, so it’s fine. Out of habit, Yuuri turns his head so he can hide his face. He ends up nosing at Victor’s neck accidentally, freezing skin meets warm, and Victor nearly drops his coffee.

“You’re frozen!” Victor exclaims, upsetting Makkachin with both his volume and his sudden movement. Yuuri jerks back, equally startled, then he smiles. He shoves his hands up Victor’s shirt, delighting in the unseemly shriek that bursts from his mouth.

The weight in Yuuri’s stomach dissipates some, it’s still there but it’s manageable.

They’re face to face, Yuuri’s hands now rest on Victor’s lower back. Victor has one hand around Yuuri’s left wrist, the other on his right shoulder, and their noses are almost touching. There’s a smile on their lips, and Victor’s trying to get his breathing back to normal.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks softly.

Yuuri ducks his head, moving his hands until he’s got Victor in a proper hug.

“Yeah.”

“I'm glad.” Victor presses a kiss into Yuuri’s hair. “Sit here, I'll make you a cup of coffee.”

Yuuri moves enough so Victor can stand up, and turns his attention to Makkachin. It doesn’t feel particularly tense, not at all really, but there’s a sneaking voice in Yuuri’s head that tells him something’s going to happen.

He doesn’t know what that thing is, so he finds himself staring at nothing while he tries to think of what it could be.

Something, something, anything.

Victor could tell him that he wants to go back to Russia.

Oh, what if that’s it? Victor got freaked out by Yuuri’s attack last night and wants to go home. That has to be it. Oh, god, no-

“Yuuri?”

Victor’s at his side, sea glass eyes wide with concern, Yuuri’s coffee mug in his left hand. His right hand hovers just over Yuuri’s shoulder, unsure about contact. Makkachin sits off to the side, no doubt having run off to get Victor the second Yuuri started panicking.

“Yes?”

“You look like you’re about to cry.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Yuuri,” Victor says, soft as he sits down properly. He sets Yuuri’s mug on the table and breathes in.

“I'm fine,” Yuuri says before Victor can speak.

“Yuuri, you're obviously not. You said last night that you would tell me.”

“If I could manage it, and I don't think I can right now.”

Victor looks as though he wants to challenge that claim, but he only sighs.

“Very well, just don't tell me you're fine if you're not, that's all I'll ask right now.”

“Okay.”

Yuuri accepts Victor’s offer of a hug, snuggling into his side and allowing Makkachin to resettle in across his lap. They rest in silence for a while, Yuuri drinks half of his coffee before his mouth decides to run without his brain.

“You're not gonna leave me, are you?” he doesn't mean to say it. He feels warm and blurry, and Victor’s arm around his shoulder is an anchor.

“Yuuri,” Victor says slowly. Having learned from the night previous, he doesn't try to pull away. Instead, he wraps Yuuri in a hug, maneuvering until he's got Yuuri in his lap.

“It just slipped out,” Yuuri says quickly.

“I won't leave you, not for anything, and certainly not for what happened last night,” Victor says softly, leaning until their foreheads touch. “You're stuck with me, Yuuri, and all I want is for us to be happy together.”

“Happy,” Yuuri starts, “I- so I didn't scare you last night?”

“No, last night was one of the most frightening nights I've experienced. But not for the reason you think. I didn't know what was happening, or if what I was doing was helping or not. You've never told me about this, I was afraid for you, not of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Victor grins and pulls back. He cups Yuuri’s face and kisses his forehead.

“Good. Now, Mari gave me explicit instructions not to let you work today.”

“What? Victor I-”

“No, she said not to let you work, we're taking a day.”

Yuuri bites his lip.

Mari and Victor talked. Victor must have asked her about last night, Mari would have told him the truth.

Yuuri can only imagine. Mari would have told Victor about Yuuri as a child. All the sensory episodes that landed him hiding in corners, under beds, mostly squished between shelves in the linens cupboard. Mari was always the one to find him. She'd bring a blanket, wrap him up and pull him gently from the cupboard, and carry him to his room. If they were out, she'd cover him with a jacket and take him somewhere quiet or dark depending on what kind of episode he was having. Mostly though, she’d just sit with him and he’d hold her hand in a crushing grip until he felt okay again.

Which means Victor _knows_ how long this has been happening.

“A day, huh?”

“We can go out, stay in, whatever you’d like.”

Yuuri downs his coffee in one go, the drink having cooled considerably in the time since Victor brought it.

“Can we go to the rink?”

Victor smiles, eyes soft and open as he leans forward to kiss Yuuri’s forehead

“Of course.”

* * *

Yuuri’s okay for a couple of weeks. He'd sat down with Victor, finally, told him how the attacks work, in a simple way. Victor hadn't quite gotten how colors translated to pain, or how whispers became screams, but he'd understood what Yuuri was telling him.

And Yuuri’s okay for a while. Until one night when he's not. He'd asked to sleep alone, anticipating another attack of some form when he felt himself getting twitchy. Victor had kissed his hand before sending him to bed.

This is a little different though.

Yuuri’s head is a blessedly silent, but his skin is crawling, burning up from the inside out. He doesn’t know if skating will help for something like this, but maybe the cold air of the rink will ease the flames beneath his skin.

He debates sneaking past Victor. Maybe he can leave a note? But Yuuri doesn't want to worry him.

His skin is burning up as he laces his shoes. Yuuri doesn't bother with a sweater, and sneaks out of his room as quietly as possible.

Victor catches him anyways, midstep, right in front of the door. Makkachin is nowhere in sight but Yuuri has a sneaking suspicion that the dog has something to do with this.

“Are you going to go skate?”

There’s no reason to lie now, not when Victor is now very much aware of his late night, or early morning, trips to Ice Castle. Not when they've talked about this.

“Yes.”

“Is it…” Victor leans against the doorframe, unsure how to continue his sentence.

“Something different,” Yuuri says quietly. He can feel his hands start to shake, so he shoves them into his pockets.

“Do you mind if I come along?” Victor doesn’t look half as concerned as he sounds, Yuuri silently applauds him for putting up a brave front.

Yuuri doesn’t think he’ll mind, he might have if it were the colors, or the sounds. But physical feeling is different, it might help to have someone with him, even if Victor’s just waiting outside the rink.

“Please.”

They walk in silence, Victor doesn’t make an attempt to touch him, but Yuuri knows he wants to. After his last episode, Victor’s gotten fairly talented at reading the situation, Yuuri’s grateful for the fact.

When they reach Ice Castle, Yuuri fumbles the key from his pocket but his hands are shaking too badly to get it into the lock.

A flash of searing heat jolts up Yuuri arms when Victor’s fingers brush his. He takes the key and unlocks the door but Yuuri is left staring at his own hands. He knows there’s nothing touching them at the moment, but he can feel where Victor barely touched him, and it _burns._

He bolts inside, his actions blurring together into a muddled mess of sensations, only returning to clarity when he steps onto the ice. Victor catches up to him then, and Yuuri’s already pushing off.

The chill hits him the second he starts moving. It does nothing to ease the burning so he skates as fast as he dares, tries to generate a breeze. He bends low, putting his hand to the ice. The cold burns even more than the fire before his skin goes numb. When he straightens up, his body starts to cool and he slows down some.

He skates for at least an hour. As he slows, he drags his hand against the ice again.

It doesn't burn.

His hand doesn't split open, it's not gushing blood, but it may as well be given Victor’s reaction.

Yuuri stares at his hand. There are only a few scratches, but all of them bleed dark red beads, spilling out and spreading briefly.

“Yuuri.” Victor’s in front of him, skates on but not tied, hands hovering by Yuuri’s, unsure if he should touch.

“Can we go home?” he asks, voice cracking. He can feel himself fading, his mind winding down somewhat.

“Of course, but- your hand.”

Victor stays by his side as he skates off the rink. He takes off Yuuri’s skates without touching him, and waits while he washes the blood off his hand.

The scratches don't bleed further, nothing but pale lines fading into Yuuri’s skin. The cuts have clotted completely in ten minutes.

They walk home, Yuuri gives Victor a look and the older man starts chattering. Yuuri feels more calm than he usually does after these trips, but there's still a few gears spinning too fast. There's a spring, winding tighter and tighter, waiting for the right moment.

It comes when they've finished changing into pajamas.

Victor’s hand only just brushes Yuuri’s shoulder, like he was reaching out and stopped himself too late.

The spring isn't released so much as it breaks, wound too tight to be sustainable. Something clicks in Yuuri’s head and he flinches like he's been hit.

Yuuri freezes instantly, torn between the burning sensation on his shoulder where Victor’s hand had been, and Victor’s face, the expression there reading as if Yuuri had just slapped him. Immediately, Yuuri tries to stutter out an explanation, he only manages a choked ‘I’m sorry’ before he sees Victor’s face soften.

“It’s okay, I shouldn't have touched you,” Victor says easily, and Yuuri doesn’t know if he’s imagining the hurt in those sea glass eyes or not, but it makes him feel guilty either way.

“It’s not.” Yuuri pushes the words past his teeth and balls up his hands when he feels them start to shake. “It’s nothing you’ve done, me being at this point, it's not your fault.”

“I believe you.”

Yuuri’s breath catches, he chokes out a sob as his vision goes fuzzy. He twines his fingers in his hair, yanking once as a means to refocus himself, but it doesn’t work. His breath draws in with a whine, high and sharp, and his chest is much too heavy.

All at once, his knees give out and he collapses, dropping to the floor. He’s more or less upright, hunched over with his face nearly parallel to the wood panels.

As if underwater, Yuuri can hear Victor panicking above him, but he can’t make himself focus on that.

There’s too much happening.

His skin is on fire. His brain set off all the alarms and sirens, it’s in the process of shutting off the lights. He doesn’t want to blackout, that can’t happen. Not right now. They’re making progress. Yuuri doesn’t even know why he’s panicking, he’s not afraid, there’s no legitimate sensory overload happening.

He wants to stop.

Hands jittery, he brings two of his fingers to the pulse point at his wrist, but he can’t feel anything. He moves them to his neck, nearly choking himself out as his tries to find his pulse. It’s erratic, that much he already knows, but it’s been worse, maybe there’s still coming back from this.

Victor’s not panicking anymore, he’s kneeling beside Yuuri, hovering, not sure if he should talk or touch. Yuuri’s thankful for the fact. He has enough control of his body to grab at Victor’s hand.

Yuuri doesn’t spare a thought to the chance that he may or may not be crushing Victor’s fingers, he just screws his eyes shut and keeps his free hand at his neck, channeling his focus to his pulse.

It’s a dull yet rapid beat, the strike of a hammer throughout his body and he thinks only of each thud to his fingertips.

Eventually, he slows down.

Once Yuuri can breathe again, he finds his skin is no longer burning, despite the fact that he’s still shaking. He slumps to the side, into Victor, and draws in a breath.

His lips are forming the words ‘I’m sorry’ but Victor beats him to it. He hugs Yuuri tighter to his chest, whispering those words over and over again.

“Yuuri, I'm sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.”

“‘s fine, ‘s fine, Victor, I'm fine now. It's not your fault.”

Victor pulls back, quick to dry his eyes before he holds Yuuri again, this time just by the shoulders.

“How about we both get cleaned up? Then we can go to bed, I’m sure Makkachin is very concerned with your sleep habits.”

Though it’s said in jest, an attempt to lighten the mood, Yuuri can still see the worry in Victor’s eyes.

“Victor-”

Victor pulls Yuuri to his feet, walks him to the bed then disappears. When he comes back, he has a water bottle and a warm washcloth. Yuuri keeps quiet as Victor cleans his face. He feels the hesitant drag of the cloth on his skin, knows that Victor is still worrying. Yuuri knows that his face is already clean, but Victor’s hyperintensive focus keeps him still.

It's Victor’s nonverbal apology. Nevermind that it really isn't his fault anyways.

* * *

The next day, Yuuri pulls his sister aside. The two spend a few minutes whispering before Mari nods and ruffles his hair.

Yuuri and Victor go for a jog with Makkachin, coming to a stop at the beach.

“Is something happening today?” Victor asks as they walk across the sand. Their shoes are knotted at the laces, hanging around their necks. Yuuri can’t figure out if the sand between his toes is a feeling he enjoys. But he doesn’t entirely dislike it either, so it’s okay for now. His head feels okay, his body even more so, he feels good.

“Kind of,” Yuuri says after a moment. “I didn’t explain all that well, and I- I know you’re beating yourself up every time I have an attack, or one of those nights. It’s not your fault, and I should- I should have-”

Victor takes his hand, squeezing gently. Yuuri takes in a breath, he keeps his eyes on the sand. He’s found that it’s easier to focus on what he has to say if he doesn’t have to worry about Victor’s facial expression.

“Mari and my parents can help explain everything. They know how to handle me when I get like that, Mari especially. I just don’t want you thinking that you’re responsible for any of this. You’re not. This sort of thing has been happening ever since I was younger, I don’t know why. You deserve to have all of your questions answered, I know you have some. They’ll talk to you at lunch, I have to email Phichit anyways, so...”

When Victor stops walking, Yuuri fears he’s said something wrong. He looks up, ready to let go of Victor’s hand and step away, but he stops.

Victor has _that_ look on his face.

The look speaks leagues to Victor’s affection, all warm eyes and a soft smile, cheeks just the slightest bit rosy. It’s the look he gives Yuuri when they wake up together, or when they’re going to bed. It’s the look he got after every competition, when Victor threw his arms open to him as he came off the ice. It’s love and acceptance, and it’s Yuuri’s favorite look.

“I love you,” Victor says, leaning forward until their foreheads touch.

The question of ‘really?’ immediately bubbles to Yuuri’s lips, even after so long, but he presses his lips shut and smiles. Yuuri closes his eyes and lets go of Victor’s hand to pull him into a hug.

“I love you too.”

Makkachin voices his objections to being ignored by jumping up, paws against Victor’s back, throwing them off balance.

Sand isn’t the softest thing in the world, and Victor isn’t exactly the lightest person ever. He gets the wind knocked out of him when he hits the ground and groans. But Victor is smiling, and soon the both of them are laughing when Makkachin throws himself over to the two of them.

“We should get back then,” Victor says, giving Yuuri a kiss before wiggling out from under Makkachin and helping Yuuri stand up. They dust sand off each other and make their way back to the roads, brushing sand from their feet and putting their shoes back on.

The closer they get to home, the more anxious Yuuri gets. He tightens his grip on Victor’s hand, and Victor moves in to kiss his cheek.

Yuuri helps Mari with laundry while Victor helps his mother with lunch. Though his skills in cooking aren’t super great, he can take basic prep direction well enough.

“You two doing okay?” Mari asks, handing him a sheet. Yuuri nods, biting his lip.

“I told him we were all gonna talk.”

“I already-” Mari takes a breath. “I already kind of told him some stuff. He asked, so I…”

“I figured, don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?” Mari stops her folding to put her hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “I know you don’t-”

“Mari it’s fine, really.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be there? It’ll feel like we’re gossiping about you.”

“I think it’ll be more awkward if I am there,” Yuuri says easily, “It’ll be easier with just you guys, Victor can ask all the questions he wants. I know he’s been worrying.”

He really doesn’t mind, Mari’s better at explaining these sorts of things, which is why his family talking with Victor will be beneficial. He’s glad that Mari’s already explained some things instead of declining to say anything.

Mari just nods, pulling him into a quick side hug before they finish folding the laundry.

Come lunch time, Yuuri takes his plate to his room, Makkachin comes with him and falls asleep on his bed.

As the minutes tick by, Yuuri finds himself growing a bit anxious. He’d anticipated that they might be a while, but now he’s a little unsure of himself. He sends his email to Phichit, goes through his social media to catch up on what he’s missed in the past few days.

By the time he’s finished, Victor still hasn’t come back, so he lays down with Makkachin and falls asleep.

* * *

Yuuri’s not sure how long he’s been out, but the blinds on his window have been drawn shut, and there’s a blanket settled over him that hadn’t been there before. His glasses are gone, neatly folded on the nightstand from what he can make out. Makkachin is slumped over him, awake but content to stay by Yuuri.

And then there’s Victor.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, his face blurry but Yuuri is very sure that he’s got _that_ look on his face. So he smiles, worming one of his hands from beneath the blanket. He reaches out, slowly so he doesn’t accidentally smack Victor in the face, and places his hand against Victor’s cheek.

“Good afternoon.”

“‘Afternoon.” Yuuri pushes up to rest on his arm. Makkachin looks up, pouncing up to lick Yuuri’s face. “How’d it go?”

“Well, your parents covered everything, Mari filled in the cracks.”

“Did it help?”

“I believe so, hopefully.”

Yuuri sits up properly, letting his hand slip from Victor’s face to his shoulder. They’ll be okay, he’s certain. There will probably always be questions, and Yuuri knows he’ll have more attacks. But Victor is understanding, always has been.

They’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to that one time I kind of sort of reasoned myself out of an attack. It's only happened once, which sucks, but whatever. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> My first contribution to this fandom is angsty anxiety attacks, a.k.a. my entire life.
> 
> Okey doke, well, I had to get that out of my system, I'll be getting back to the stuff already in progress.
> 
> Fee free to yell at, or with, me on tumblr!


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